You Give Me a Reason
by Hermitt
Summary: Severus is visiting the grave of the woman he loves in the summer before he starts as Headmaster at Hogwarts. Bit of a tear-jerker, if I do say so myself. Please read and review; it won't take you long.


This story is not affiliated with or endorsed by J. K. Rowling or any of her publishers or licensees. It does not imply or claim any rights to her characters or creations.

Harry Potter is a registered trademark of Warner Bros.

* * *

She had been all he had. She had been his only light in his void of darkness. She had been his only true companion, despite the companionship of few others, and yet, despite these things, he was now completely and utterly alone.

He couldn't tell anyone of the mission that he had been set by the old man. He couldn't tell anyone anything.

She wouldn't have jumped to conclusions about him being loyal to the Dark Lord, despite his actions, like the rest of the world had. He liked to believe she would have sought every detail and his point of view before condemning him like everyone else chose to do.

She would have pressed and pressed until he had told her the truth.

Oh, how he missed her.

He had been ostracized from the world. He had been exiled by the very people who had been meant to believe him.

But he couldn't blame them.

He had killed their champion.

He had killed their rock.

He had killed the man who had stood by his side and given him a second chance in life when no one else had.

He had killed Albus Dumbledore and every person in the world on the side of the Light despised him with so much passion, with so much discontent, that he felt a physical pain when he thought of it all, the weight of it pressing down on him and leaving him short of breath, physically aching in his chest and bent double on occasion.

And now, here he stood, the lily's fresh on her grave and the liquid adorning the flora not all dew.

Kneeling down beside her grave, he allowed his head to hang low, his body trembling with his suppressed emotions of torment and angst.

He was a condemned man.

He had no hopes of living to see the end of the war and he did not allow himself to have even a minuscule amount of the emotion.

He had lived not even a full lifetime and already he felt as if he had lived far too many.

How was he to go on when he had no support? That old fool! He had trusted him; the man who had filled his head with words of peace and redemption had re-broken him apart.

How he wished for redemption.

His actions had cost his love her life. How he wished and prayed with every single fiber of his lousy being that he could take his words back.

If only he hadn't called her that one word; if only he hadn't called her that one word that had brought his world to a crushing halt.

He could have gone another place, in another direction; she could have lived, had he not shouted that word out in his humiliation and anger filled moment of lost self-control. She would have still been his best friend and perhaps more, if he hadn't been so rash in his words.

He regretted it all.

He regretted calling her that name, that completely unbefitting name for such a compassionate, beautiful witch, more pure than any other he knew.

He regretted joining His ranks and becoming a Death Eater.

He regretted hearing that damned prophesy and telling his Master.

He regretted killing the foolish old wizard and then becoming an outcast and the most despised man, second to only the Dark Lord, due to the old man's pleas and plans.

He even went so far as to regret ever being born into the cruel and torment addled world that had been nothing short of a torture his entire, miserable life.

He often wondered why he even bothered. Why he bothered with living if the only one he loved was not and if his life was nothing short of a daily torture.

It would be better if he were dead. He would not have to feel the torture, both physical and emotional, every single day of his damned life.

He didn't want to keep it up. He just wanted it to all end. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and never have to open them on the damned world that he despised so much again.

He was just so angry. Angry at Dumbledore for ruining his already shattered life; angry at damn bloody Voldemort and his lackeys for their damnation and disastrous ideals and destroying the world; angry at Potter and Potter Junior for taking his love and reminding him for the past six years of the choice she made by stealing her eyes; angry at all of the bloody Marauders for their cruelty to him during his seven years of schooling; angry at the world for its penchant for his pain; and just so angry at himself that he wanted to scream until his throat ran dry and then keep screaming until the day he died and then beyond.

And he was so tired. He was just _so_ tired.

Sighing heavily, his head fell lower as his shoulders dropped further towards the ground.

He could by now feel the liquid trickling from his eyes and the silent trembles becoming stronger. He would not allow himself to cry out loud, however. He would not allow the pain and sorrow to engulf him so completely that he let go of all rational thought and curled up into a ball and cried until he felt the numbness, followed quickly by the blanket of unconsciousness, overcome him and bring him some short respite.

For that was the time dreams of his life did not plague him.

Almost every night he dreamt it all. It was as if it was on repeat, those images flashing through his head. He was helpless in his sleep.

Helpless. A feeling he hated so much he felt it physically.

He had been helpless to do many things and he had hated every moment of it.

But those dreams, those dreams were plagued with the moment he lost her friendship, the moment he heard Trelawney's prophesy, all his times in the Dark Lord's presence and doing his bidding, the night he killed his mentor and so many more things that he shuddered to think of.

There was still so much to do, however. So many more things to do before the Dark Lord would be able to be killed, finally, completely and indefinitely.

And he would do it.

He would do all in his power, without raising suspicion, to keep the students of Hogwarts as safe as possible the upcoming school year with his new post as Headmaster.

He would keep fighting until his last breath.

He would welcome his last breath, yes, but he would do his utmost to the destruction of Lord Voldemort and the fall of the Dark.

His love, his Lily, would be proud of him. She would forgive him for what he had said.

He wouldn't have done all he had if it weren't for her.

No one came close to the devotion he had for her. It was all for her. Protecting her son, fighting the Dark with everything he had in any way he was capable.

All for her.

Everything.

She was his cause for all the things he did trying to redeem himself, trying to redeem himself for her, trying to become the man she always thought he was before the day he destroyed it all. She was his cause for continuing on in the fight against the Dark and all who supported it.

She was his everything and still was.

His legs were aching from kneeling by her headstone for so long. The forecast rain had begun to fall, drenching his robes and plastering his hair to his face. The rain felt like a cleansing of the remorse he was feeling. It disguised his tears and gave him a small sense of control over his whirlwind of emotions.

He stood up, his back aching and knees cracking. Stretching back his head to the sky, he allowed the rain to fall on his face, his eyes shut tightly against the downpour.

Rolling his shoulders, Severus cast one last look down upon her gravestone, imprinting the words there into his memory, not sure if it would be the last time he did so. He stroked her name, it was slightly worn from all the times he had done so, and turned his back on her resting place, the lily's the only indication of his presence, and walked away from her graveside and out of the village.

He was going to do everything in all his power to bring down the monster that had stolen his love. He had never doubted the fact that he would keep fighting for her. He would fight until his dying breath to kill the monster that was ruling over Wizarding Britain.

For he had a reason to keep fighting:

She was his reason.

* * *

Cheers, guys. I appreciate you reading this little one-shot of mine. I wrote it when I was in a bit of a depressing mood. I really had no reason to be in one, it was just one of those times, you know? I'd been planning on writing this for a little while, but my mood gave me the inspiration I desired and needed to write it. I particularly let my emotions loose at the moment when Severus was regretting his birth, his still living and the anger he was feeling.

If you have any queries unto the story, please don't hesitate to leave them in a review and if you are signed with this site, I'd be more than happy to discuss them with you.

Thank you again for reading. It would make me happier if you left me a review; it would really make my day.

Thanks again and take care,

Hermitt


End file.
